Or for his sweet obedient ways
The Apostles brought him near, to share Their Lord's laborious days,
His frugal basket bear.
Or might it be his duteous heart
That led him sacrifice to bring
For his own simple part,
To the world's hidden King?
guess how glow'd his cheek, How he look'd down, half pride half fear: Far off he saw one speak
"There is a lad-five loaves hath he, And fishes twain :-but what are they Where hungry thousands be?"
Nay, Christ will find a way.
In order on the fresh green hill
The mighty Shepherd ranks his sheep By tens and fifties, still
As clouds when breezes sleep.
Oh, who can tell the trembling joy,
Who paint the grave endearing look,
When from the favour'd boy
The wondrous pledge He took?
Keep thou, dear child, thine early word: Bring him thy best: who knows but he For His eternal board
May take some gift of thee?
Thou prayest without the veil as yet,
But kneel in faith: an arm benign
Such prayer will duly set
Within the holiest shrine.
And prayer has might to spread and grow.
Thy childish darts, right-aimed on high,
May catch Heaven's fire, and glow
Far in the eternal sky:
Even as he made that stripling's store
Type of the feast by him decreed,
Where angels might adore,
And souls for ever feed.
2 THE DISCIPLES GOING TO EMMAUS.
It happen'd on a solemn eventide,
Soon after He that was our Surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin'd,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event:
They spake of him they loved, of him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more;
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done;
T'exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die.
Ere yet they brought their journey to en end,
A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend,
And ask'd them, with a kind, engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share.
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well
The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell,
That, reaching home, "The night, they said, is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here'
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And, made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, ""Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deigned to say ?
Did not they burn within us by the way ?'
Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves
Man to maintain, and such as God approves :
Their views, indeed, were indistinct and dim,
But yet successful, being aim'd at him.
Christ and his character their only scope,
Their object, and their subject, and their hope,
They felt what it became them much to feel,
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal,
Found him as prompt, as their desire was true,
To spread the newborn glories in their view.
COWPER.
Of rich adorers came a humble form, -
A widow, meek as poverty doth make
Her children! with a look of sad content
Her mite within the treasure heap she cast:
Then, timidly as bashful twilight, stole
From out the Temple. But her lowly gift
Was witness'd by an eye, whose mercy views
In motive all that consecrates a deed
To goodness: So he bless'd the widow's mite
Beyond the gifts abounding wealth bestow'd.
Thus is it, Lord! with thee: the heart is thine,
And all the world of hidden action there
Works in thy sight, like waves beneath the sun,
Conspicuous! and a thousand nameless acts
That lurk in lonely secrecy, and die
Unnoticed, like the trodden flowers which fall
Beneath a proud man's foot, to thee are known,
And written with a sunbeam in the Book
Of Life, where mercy fills the brightest page.
Sweet Sabbath morn! from childhood's dimpled prime
I've lov'd to hail thy calm-renewing time;
Soft steal thy bells upon the tranced mind,
In fairy cadence floating on the wind,
Telling of friends and times long flown away,
And pensive hopes harmonious with the day.
On thy still dawn, while holy music peals,
And far around the ling'ring echo steals,
What heart communes not with the day's repose,
And, lull'd by angel-dreams, forgets its woes;
Who, in His temple, gives to God a prayer,
Nor feels a portrait of bright Heaven is there?
The melting stillness of the vaulted pile,
Where gather'd hearts their homage breathe awhile,
The mingled burst of penitential sighs,
The choral anthem pealing to the skies,
Exalt the soul to energies sublime,
And thoughts that reach beyond the realm of time!
Emblem of peace! upon the village plain
Thou dawn'st a blessing to the toil-worn swain :
Soon as thy smiles along the upland play,
His bosom gladdens with the bright'ning day;
Humble and happy, to his lot resign'd,
He owns the inward Sabbath of the mind.
And when, with low-drawn sighs of love and fear,
His suppliant vows have woo'd Jehovah's ear,
Serene the thoughts that o'er his bosom steal,
As home he wanders from the Sabbath meal:
There shall kind plenty wear her sweetest smiles:
There shall his ruddy children play their wiles;
While the fond mother, lapp'd in wordless joy,
Fondles with frequent kiss her infant boy.
At noon, a ramble round the burial-ground,
A moral tear on some lamented mound;
Or breezy walk along the green expanse,
Where endless verdure charms the ling'ring glance;
These are the wonted blessings of the day,
That all his weekly toils and woes repay:
And when the shroud of night hath veil'd the view,
And star gleams twinkle on the meadow dew,
Some elder boy beside his father's knee
Shall stand and read th' Eternal History;
Or household prayer, or chanted hymn shall close
The hour that charms him to a sweet repose.
R. MONTGOMERY
THE DEATH OF THE YOUNG.
It matters little at what hour o' the day
The righteous falls asleep; death cannot come
To him untimely who is fit to die.
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven,
The briefer life, the earlier immortality.
There went a man through Syrian land
Leading a camel by the hand;
The beast, made wild by sudden harm,
So fiercely snorting, that the man
With all his speed escaping ran —
He ran - - and saw a well that lay,
As chance might have it, in the way:
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